


night's decor

by thebrobecks



Series: Glowing Eyes [2]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: A Fuck Load Of Pain, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Broken Bones, College, Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, Hallucinogens, Kidnapping, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Pain, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Shapeshifting, Torture, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrobecks/pseuds/thebrobecks
Summary: And now, here he was, in a cold, dark room. Probably a basement. He had no idea where he was, or how he got here, or why he was even here. Though, he could probably guess the reason. Mutantphobes weren’t all that common anymore, but there were always little groups in every corner of the world.
or: josh dun's backstory for this AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> heya! here we fuckin go lads, here's the first painful update in like 10 years for the glowing eyes 'verse! thats what its called now. nice. yeet. have fun with this????  
> tw for: violence, racism/speciesism, drugs, alcohol, beatings, self hatred, vomit, hallucinogens, someone being drugged

A stabbing, resounding ache covering the entirety of his head was what he woke to. His senses came back slowly, and with them came the pain. It took him what seemed like centuries to open his eyes; his head hurt so much that the tiniest shafts of light felt like a screwdriver digging his eyeball out of its socket. A sloppy, reckless screwdriver at that. 

The sudden realization that, no, he wasn’t just hungover in bed, shot through him like a bullet. Memories from the previous night came flooding back, irritating his throbbing brain. 

Him and Brent, sitting in his dorm room, playing Mario Kart on his roommate’s little flatscreen TV. Consuming obscene amounts of snacks, as college students were prone to do, chatting idly about classes and girls and the newest Blink album. The conversation was peppered with frustrated shouts or whoops of triumph as the characters on the screen fought for first place. 

It had just been an average Friday night for Josh; hang out with one or a couple of his friends, play some of the best Wii games that had ever been made (of course Mario Kart counted. Duh. It probably was the best Wii game of all time and anyone who didn’t think so deserved to be burned at a stake) and just having an overall good time. Josh was, to be quite honest, the happiest he’d been in a while. He actually had a good friend, for once, instead of somebody that was far too fascinated with his mutation. There was hope, for him and for his future. Maybe this was the start of a new, better phase in his life.

Until Brent had gotten up to supposedly get sodas for them. 

He’d said that there was something new in the common room refrigerator. Josh didn’t really believe him at first, since that fridge had always been stocked with the same cheap off-brand sodas since he’d arrived in August, but he didn’t question Brent. Soda was always a good idea, no matter what type it was.

When Brent had come back, he’d seemed a bit agitated, eyes downcast and movements a little jerky. If Josh had actually been inspecting his behavior, he’d say that Brent looked almost guilty. But he just chalked it up to the result of an awkward interaction he might have had in the common room.

He’d handed Josh a delightfully chilled bottle of A&W, misty condensation on the outside of the bottle and everything. It seemed that Brent hadn’t lied about the new sodas. 

Brent’s weird behavior seemed to pass after they both took their initial gulps. Josh had noticed that his friend was giving him odd glances every few minutes, like he was waiting for something to happen. Of course, he didn’t really pay it much mind, because Brent had always acted a little weird.

He couldn’t remember what had happened after that. His memories were fuzzy, in a way they usually never were. Josh was always able to remember things with startling clarity. At some point, he’d obviously passed out. 

He had been drugged. 

And now, here he was, in a cold, dark room. Probably a basement. He had no idea where he was, or how he got here, or  _ why  _ he was even here. Though, he could probably guess the reason. Mutantphobes weren’t all that common anymore, but there were always little groups in every corner of the world.

Josh tried to sit up, or at least get to his knees, but his headache and something around his wrists stopped his progress. He tugged, and the object that rubbed and dug into his skin felt like rope. Fuck. He was fucking tied.  _ Trapped _ .

Eyes blown wide —the headache briefly forgotten in his panic—he tried to keep his breathing under control. Freaking out right now wouldn’t do anything. Josh wheezed helplessly for a few moments, trying to lurch out of the restraints even though he knew, oh God, he  _ knew _ , they wouldn’t give. 

Slumping against the cold wall in defeat, he tried to organize his thoughts. His head still felt a little hazy, as if whatever he’d been drugged with hadn’t worn out yet. 

Crap. He couldn’t even rely on his powers, his freaking  _ gift _ that saved his ass countless times, to get him out of this. Josh knew from experience that if he was under the influence of any type of drug, he was like a mortal. He couldn’t do shit. 

It was the same as when he was panicking. Extreme emotions seemed to block his power, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate. He didn’t know if that was something he’d grow out of, or if it was just a limitation. That scared him; knowing that if he was too terrified, or too angry, or even too damn  _ depressed  _ he wasn’t able to use his gift.

Groaning, Josh let his head thud gently against the smooth cement of the wall. He still felt somewhat panicky, so he just focused on breathing. In, curse himself for being stupid enough to think Brent was his friend, out, try not to focus on how bad his current situation was. 

Noise from above alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t alone. It sounded like footsteps, heavy and threatening. Breath catching in his throat, Josh curled tighter into himself. It was a useless motion, rather childish actually, but even if it was pathetic and dumb he felt a little safer. As though he was protecting himself from whoever might come down.

A door, directly opposite from where he was tied, creaked open. Weak, yellow light filtered through the opening, illuminating the room around him. Josh shut his eyes. Maybe if he looked like he was asleep, they would leave him be. 

He heard the door shut, and the heavy footsteps made their way towards him. 

“I know you’re awake,” a male voice grunted. It was low, but seemed deafening in the quiet of the room. 

When Josh didn’t respond, he heard the man’s breath hitch in annoyance. Not a second later, something—it felt like a hand—cracked across his exposed cheek. With a sharp gasp, Josh opened his eyes to glare indignantly at his attacker.

The man looked to be around Josh’s age. He was bent over, his brows lines of anger across his face. The hand he’d smacked Josh with was poised in the air, ready to strike again. He got a glimpse of the unforgiving metal rings looped around his fingers, just as he felt something hot run down his cheek.

The fucker had cut open his face with his rings.

“Answer me when I talk to you,” the man spat, straightening and letting his arm fall to his side. “I brought some food and water for you so you don’t starve. Be grateful,  _ mutant _ .” He set a plate and bottle down with a clatter. A decrepit-looking sandwich lay on the plate.

Josh let himself ignore the food, though he  _ was  _ starving, and stared up at the man. “Is this what this is about? Me being a mutant?” He tried to go for dry incredulity, but his fear betrayed him and shook his voice. 

The man clenched his fists, as though he was about to punch Josh. “Ask another fuckin’ question, and I’ll break your wrist. Eat your damn food.”

Biting his tongue to keep a sarcastic remark from slipping out, he grabbed the sandwich from the plate without looking away from the man. The stale white bread sagged around his fingers, and it reeked of mayonnaise and refrigerated cold cuts, but he brought it to his mouth and took a bite anyway. Josh suppressed the urge to gag, knowing he needed to eat. He probably wouldn’t be fed again for a while, until his captor—or captors—decided he had to. 

By the time he finished the sandwich, Josh felt like he was about to hurl. He absolutely hated mayonnaise, and deli meat, and everything about that damn thing. 

He hesitated before opening the lukewarm water bottle. 

“How do I know this isn’t drugged?” He questioned, already knowing that he wouldn’t get a clear response.

“It’s fucking water. If you weren’t a blubbering idiot, you’d realize that the seal isn’t broken. Don’t be a paranoid little shit,” was his answer.

Shrugging, Josh twisted the cap off. Like he was told, the seal was intact. He chugged the water, relishing in the wetness hitting the back of his throat. His headache seemed to ebb away slightly as well as he swallowed.

Josh was disappointed when there was no more left. He shook the bottle, getting the few remaining drops to fall to his tongue.

The bottle was wrenched from his hand, and he heard the scrape of ceramic against cement as the man took the plate as well. 

“You’re welcome,” he snarled, stomping off to the door. 

Josh stared after him with an odd feeling in his chest. He couldn’t exactly name it, but it felt almost like confusion. By the way he was bound, he’d expected to be beaten and tortured and raped. Not fed and mostly untouched, save for the one strike across his cheek. 

Speaking of, it felt like the bleeding had stopped. All he felt was an ache, and the pinching stiffness of dried blood. Nothing too bad.

No, Josh definitely didn’t think that this was going to be a pleasant experience. He wasn’t going to experience kindness, or mercy, down here. It was only the beginning, he knew, but if things kept going this way… he’d be alright. He could get through this, until he escaped, or somebody found him. He felt like it was going to be okay. 

\---

Things were definitely not okay. 

It had been about three months, he thought. They came down to see him two times each day, he’d come to realize. Once to bring him something to drink, sometimes giving him food. Then, later, a group of them would come down to give him his  _ evening treatment _ . He measured the days this way now. It was hard to keep track when he could barely keep himself conscious, but he managed. 

He’d deduced that Brent’s drugging him in his dorm was part of some bigger plan, possibly of some on-campus mutant hate group. They’d never told him what was going on, but it was easy enough to figure out. Every morning, somebody would come down with ‘breakfast’. The person bringing him food always seemed absolutely exhausted, so Josh figured that he was always visited before they had to leave for classes. When he was visited later in the day, there was always a group; likely at night, after all classes had finished. 

He rarely saw Brent. The guy only ever came down at night, and Josh was usually too terrified to get mad at him. He suspected that there was some regret, though; from what he remembered of the guy’s expression when he saw him, there was always a semblance of sympathy. A weak semblance, but it was there. 

Josh knew he should have been able to use his gift to get out of here by now. But, they kept him drugged up enough that he wasn’t able to do anything. Unlike the first day, they almost always hid some sort of narcotic in his food or drink. Sometimes, he thought it was just to see what effect it would have on him. They did something like that sometimes during the evening treatment. 

The evening treatment differed from day to day. The easiest days were when they injected him with something that put him to sleep. He didn’t know what they did to him while he was out, but he at least knew they weren’t using him for sex. Being a mutant, he was too disgusting and unnatural for them to even consider fucking him. He was okay with that.

The worst days were when they experimented on him with the drugs. They had to be illegal, substances he couldn’t even dream of. Hallucinogens were their favorites. They loved seeing him react to things that weren’t there, watching him scream and writhe and fall apart in a shivering mess on the floor. They had full control over what he saw, and felt, and heard. 

For days after the experimental evenings, Josh wouldn’t be able to eat. On those days, they would either put him to sleep or let him go easy with a simple beating. 

Yesterday was an experimental evening. Right now, he was shaking on the floor, flinching at every shadow and sound from above. It sounded like they were celebrating something up there. He heard the bassy thrums of loud music, and raucous shouts and laughter. It sounded too much like last night’s hallucination. 

He whined, high and grating, at the memory, trying to push it to the back of his mind. His hands and knees shook harder. 

The door slammed open, a sudden rush of light and sound and  _ things _ . The putrid scent of alcohol and sweat reached his nose, and he cringed. People were coming towards him, stumbling, drunk people.

Josh flinched as he felt hands grasping at his wrists and ankles. They were untying him, which meant a beating, which meant him lying awake all night trying not to cry out in pain for fear of waking someone. They always untied him because they could drag his weak, pliable form to the middle of the room so they could get him from all angles. There wasn’t an inch of him they didn’t attack. Tonight was no exception.

Josh hated the smell of alcohol.

They kicked him, and punched him, and choked him, and pressed into previous wounds and bruises, until they were satisfied. Then, they would tie him back up and leave him to suffer for the night.

All because they hated him for being able to do things they couldn’t. They were jealous, sickly, horribly jealous, because Josh was powerful. Josh had a gift that he couldn’t control, that got him into more trouble than it was worth, and they hated him for it. It was sick, it was terrible, and it was purely  _ human _ . Humans were the only ones that would torture others out of jealousy. Josh hated humans.

However, the one thing that humans were blessed with was their bumbling stupidity. It may not show in sobriety, but once under the influence, they are dumber than sand. 

Josh, of course, knew that he would be the same way. Mutants were more like humans than the fools thought they were. Mutants had human tendencies, human thoughts, human actions. The only thing  _ abnormal  _ about them was their genes. They could get drunk and stupid like humans could, but they would never, never resort to this type of violence.

After tonight’s drunken beating, Josh noticed something off. Something was very off, actually. 

He had been left in the middle of the floor, bleeding and broken and bruised, but untied. Those stupid drunkards had actually forgotten to tie him back up. They had simply staggered back upstairs, back to their loud abrasive music and their drinks. 

Josh felt a glimmer of hope sparkling in his chest, weak and faltering but  _ there _ . It would be near impossible to pull this off, but if he was careful and patient and cautious, he might have a chance. 

But there was still sound filtering down to him. He had to wait until after they turned off the music, until he was sure every last one had either fallen asleep or passed out in a drunken stupor. 

It was a while until the noises from above ceased. Even when there was nothing but aching silence echoing through the building, Josh still waited. His eyelids were heavy, and his head woozy, but he pinched one of the less marred pieces of flesh on his body every time he felt himself slipping. It just added to the pain.

He finally decided that it was safe, probably about twenty-ish minutes later. He didn’t know. He wasn’t good with time anymore. It could have been hours, or just a minute. But he felt like it was safe, so he went with that. 

It was near torture to move up to a kneeling position. Furious, agonized tears streaked down his face, and he let them fall to the cement with near inaudible  _ plips _ . He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand. Crawling would have to do. 

Josh kept his ears trained on the floor above him, ready to stagger hurriedly back to his bloodstained, grimy corner if he heard footsteps. Thankfully, there was nothing but blessed, sweet silence. 

As he crawled, the soreness and pain seemed to fade a bit. It was still there, still throbbing and awful, but he could focus more on moving and listening. 

He almost yelped when his forearm bumped into the bottom stair, but he choked down the noise on reflex. This was good. He’d made it across the room without anything happening. Now, of course, came the hard part. Stairs and a door. There weren’t all that many stairs, he thought. Probably only about four, or five. 

It was agony pulling himself up the stairs. He felt older wounds start to reopen, skin tingling with revisited pain. His mouth stayed shut, though, teeth pressing against each other so hard he felt they’d break. He couldn’t make any noise. 

Josh paused as he reached the door, nails digging into the worn wood of the stairs. Splinters broke the skin of his fingers, but he hardly noticed them. Such tiny pinpricks of pain weren’t enough to garner a reaction from him anymore. 

He quelled his rising anticipation and hope, knowing that he couldn’t get too confident. Josh wasn’t a lucky person. Cockiness and confidence would always end in severe, life-shattering disappointment for him. That was just how it was. The last time he was happy and hopeful, he was drugged and kidnapped. And, well, now he was here. 

Steeling himself—and listening one last time for signs of life—Josh reached a quivering hand up to the doorknob, flinching as his palm came into contact with the cold metal. He didn’t like cold. 

Slowly, slowly, painfully, he twisted the knob and pulled the door open. His whole body was shaking, from equal parts terror and anticipation and shock. Josh thanked whichever deity that kept the door from creaking and giving him away. This was a stroke of luck he hadn’t been granted in months. 

It was all he could do to not get up and run, bolt for the exit and escape. That was too impulsive, and loud, and he wouldn’t get away with it anyway. His body was in no shape to be pushed. Still, though, he would have to stand. Crawling was stealthier, and much easier for him to handle, but on the off chance they woke he would at least be able to run. 

Using the doorframe, Josh hefted himself to unsteady feet. His eyelids slipped shut and he swayed as the pain and effort tried to knock him out, but he locked his knees and tightened his grip on the frame until he could function again. 

He started to shuffle in the direction he’d been facing, one hand braced on the wall. All his senses were on overdrive as he crept down the dark hallway, apprehension and mounting adrenaline doing its best to chase away the perpetual aches and twinges of his wounds. Josh was hardly breathing, fearing that the slightest hitch of breath or gasp would alert them to his presence. 

His slow progress came to a stuttering halt when he reached what seemed to be the living room. Even with his unfocused, swimming vision, he could make out the shapes of at least four unconscious partygoers. They were sprawled across any and all surfaces—one was on the couch, another on the coffee table, and two on the floor. It seemed as if they were all asleep, but Josh couldn’t relax. In fact, he had to be even more careful. If one of them woke, it was all over. They’d kill him, without a second thought nor a smidge of remorse.

Keeping his breaths slow and shallow, Josh inched his way towards what he hoped was the front door. Moonlight was spilling in from a window, lighting the room up enough that he could make sure he wasn’t about to walk into something. 

All was going well, until a loose floorboard let out a creak that filled the room like an ear-splitting shriek. 

Josh froze as the person laying on the couch began to stir, moaning in drunken confusion. He brought a hand up to rub at his eyes as he woke, and Josh knew that he had to  _ go _ , he had to move,  _ now _ , but he was paralyzed.

For a moment, the guy seemed to be going back to sleep, and Josh let out a soft breath. He took another cautious step. 

As his weight came off the floorboard, it screeched again. 

The guy groaned again, this time in annoyance, then sat up, and Josh knew he was dead. 

“Wh-wha’ the… fuck?” He slurred, squinting. Josh could pinpoint the exact moment the guy realized who was standing there, because his eyes widened, and he yelled something unintelligible.

Acting on its own, Josh’s body propelled him towards the door. Momentum carried him shoulder-first into it, and his clumsy hand fumbled on the knob. Just as was able to grip the brass, someone grabbed him and threw him backwards into the wall, the impact reopening yet more wounds.

Josh looked up to see one—or was that several?—men standing around him, blocking his way out.  _ Shit _ . The only way he could get out of this would be if his powers worked again, and he seriously doubted that. Still.. He had to try, before he was doomed. 

People were yelling, and Josh’s head swam as he jerked away from a hand reaching for him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he put the image of what he needed in his head and concentrated. That was the elementary way of doing it, but anything more complicated was impossible at the moment. God. He hoped this worked.

A scream ripped from his throat as two giant, leathery wings sprung from his back. His fingernails curled into talons, and he felt hope rise in him again, because holy mother of  _ fuck _ , it  _ worked _ , he was  _ back _ . The men around him were cursing, and trying to restrain him.

Josh sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage, even though he was sure at least one of his ribs was cracked. He let it sit in his lungs for a few moments, a familiar heat bursting in his chest.  _ One, two _ ,  _ three _ , and he let it go. 

Flames billowed from his mouth, and he heard screams of horror. The men around him backed off in fear of being scorched, but Josh maintained the fire until his lungs were screaming for more air. 

The inferno from his lungs stopped, his vision nothing but blurred streaks of orange light from the flames starting to consume the room. He gasped in desperate breaths of air, blocking out the noise around him. There were screams, of rage and pain and terror, that Josh had caused. He’d done this. 

He steadied himself, tucking his wings into his back. He had to leave now, before more of them came to see what the commotion was about, before they came to tie him back up and beat him harder than ever before. There were flames blocking the door, he noted, so he had to chance the window. 

Josh’s eyes focused on the lamp flying at his head a split second before it collided with his head, knocking him sideways and causing fireworks to burst in his vision. He cried out in pain and shock, but stayed on his feet. To drop now would be to surrender. That couldn’t happen. 

Fighting back waves of nausea and dizziness, Josh bolted for the window. Shouts of frustration and fury told him that they knew what he was doing, but he didn’t stop. His sight grew spotty and fuzzy.

He vaulted forward, squeezing his eyelids closed and bracing himself for the impact. Somebody was screaming, and Josh realized that it was him. 

Shattering glass was the only sound he heard for a couple of seconds. Shards dug into nearly every inch of exposed flesh, peppering his skin with tiny, glittering cuts. He was airborne.

On instinct, Josh’s wings snapped out to their full length. There was glass in them, he could feel it. Bigger shards than there were in his face and arms. But he couldn’t let that stop him. His body soared up, away from the grass, wings catching the wind like sails. 

He’d done it.

He was free.

\---

Josh had been flying for what had to be over five hours, now. The sun was beginning to crest over the endless treetops, the light driving needles of pain through his head. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could last. Normally, five hours was almost nothing, hardly a form of exertion at all. But, of course, he wasn’t exactly in the best shape at the moment. Concussed, malnourished, dehydrated, injured to hell, probably still drugged, utterly exhausted… yeah, he’d seen better days. 

His ribs ached with every intake of breath; he had to keep his breathing shallow, which was near impossible with how far he was pushing himself. Josh had absolutely no idea where he was, but he knew he had to find civilization. A town. A house. Anything. Anything that was away from the  _ cabin _ .

Of course, all that he’d seen was forest. Five hours of fucking trees. If Josh wasn’t already insane from the hallucinations and months of abuse, seeing nothing but forest for such a long time was pushing him past the brink. Just his luck; he’d escaped from the living definition of hell, only to die because he couldn’t find any people. Josh thought he could see the shape of a house ahead of him, but he chalked it up to his concussion and fucked up vision. 

He felt his altitude take an abrupt nosedive; suddenly he was much closer to the treetops than he had been. His wings were giving out. Fuck, fuck. He was going to collapse and die in the middle of nowhere. 

Josh flapped the exhausted limbs harder, propelling himself back up in the air. His head was starting to hurt even worse, black spots swimming in his eyes. A cold feeling settled in his stomach as his fingers began to twitch. This wasn’t good. He needed to stop, to land, to give his body a chance to rest.

But still, he trundled on, back and wings aching from overuse. The concept of stopping, in the middle of nowhere, terrified him. He knew it was irrational. He’d been out of  _ there  _ for a while now; still, though, the oppressing trees had barely changed from when he’d emerged above them. It was too much like one of the hallucinations. He would run, or stumble, or walk, for what seemed like eternities, but his surroundings wouldn’t change.

The hallucinations also  _ always  _ ended in him falling. Josh feared that if he let himself land, he would wake up in the basement and realize that his freedom was nothing but a sick joke. That would be worse than death. 

Josh gave his wings a few more quick flaps, gaining enough momentum and altitude to let him coast and ‘rest’ for a little while. If not for his awful, pounding head and fatigued body, this flight would be almost nice. It was somewhat peaceful above the forest, a friendly breeze drying the sweat and soothing his migraine. 

With a startling twinge at the base of both of his wings, Josh felt the appendages lock up. The tips of the phalanges of his wings brushed his calves as the wings folded back helplessly. In the next moment, his vision went dark.

When he could see again, he was spiraling downwards at an ever-accelerating rate, wings bent and lax. He couldn’t use them; they were nothing more than limp appendages at his side, pushed far past their limits. 

His stomach contorted in nausea as the canopies swirled and rushed to meet him, a sick feeling coating his insides. His sight was still blotchy, fireworks and spots a dancing sign of his sorry state. A shriek tore its way from his throat as he broke past the treetops, branches raking across his body and ripping the delicate skin of his wings. The tough, leathery covering on the metacarpals and phalanges was scraped and cut to hell.

Josh caught sight of the thick, sturdy branch stretching across the right side of his vision a mere second before his body smacked right into it. His vision whirled as he was knocked around, his back to the ground now. The wings were still useless, one of them nearly unfolded and somewhat catching the air, causing him to tilt slightly.

Because he was now facing the sky, he wasn’t able to see the ground rushing up beneath him. He slammed into the forest floor so hard he blacked out.

He came to to a pain in his right wing, a pain of such severity that he’d never felt anything like it. Somebody was screaming, abrasive and loud and tearing up his throat —oh. It was him. Josh was screeching bloody murder, only stopping when he began to cough. His screams dissolved into choked sobs, agony fogging up his mind. Josh heaved his weight off the wing, daring to try and survey the damage.

_ Fuck _ . Bile rose in his throat, and he turned his head to gag in the grass. The wing looked utterly  _ wrecked _ , crumpled and bent in places it shouldn’t be. He had to have broken it. This was bad, God, this was fucking catastrophic, he wasn’t able to even  _ try _ to fly anymore. He was grounded, completely and irreversibly. 

A noise from somewhere in front of Josh had him scrambling up out of instinct, skittering on unsteady feet away from the source. His head swam, and he felt his left side—his good side—sag against a tree, uninjured wing brushing against the rough bark. 

He heard words being carried over the wind, but he couldn’t make them out. Shit, there were  _ people  _ here. He couldn’t let them see his wings, he couldn’t let  _ anyone  _ see them. 

Trying to make himself pass as human only forced a short, primal scream out of his throat. He fell to his knees. 

Somebody cursed, and all of a sudden the people were around him. There were two of them, he thought. Again, Josh tried to get up and flee, but a stabbing throb from where his broken wing sprouted from his back caused him to crumple to his hands and knees.

There was a hand on his shoulder, suddenly, and Josh jerked away with a strangled noise. He stared up at the person in front of him with wide, terrified eyes, whining in fear with each hitched breath. 

“Woah, woah, hey, fuck, we’re not gonna h—” one of the strangers began.

But Josh was already out, collapsing to the ground in a bleeding, limp heap. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> brendon's backstory should come soon, as well as the first (rewritten) chapter of stranger creatures. stay tuned for more, my children.  
> if u would like to contact me:  
> tumblr: xmasjambz  
> twitter: violenttthings  
> instagram: stardustdallon  
> yeet have a nice day whip nae nae dab


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